Hybrid
by Naaer- inactive
Summary: This life, that had been unfairly forced upon him. It was unexpected, and it certainly wasn't going to be easy. For both of them.  Both Rose and 10.5's thoughts and feelings post-JE.  second chapter added
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Um..yeah. So..hi, everyone. Been a long, long while since I last posted, but being a second year GCE student isn't easy. So expect postings to be few and far between until exams are finished..sorry.**

**Erm, yes, more angst. I will eventually get round to a fully-functioning story [eventually. the first chapter is just about drafted] and also something fluffy and lighthearted to compensate for all this angsty drudgery. The scene I imagined on the way home after the events of Journey's End [which is odd, as I usually pretend that it never happened, skipping merrily of into the la-la land of denial].**

Even the air around him tasted bitter; with each breathe he took - sullen; to match his current mood- he wasn't best pleased with his current predicament. Yes, it was different, yes; it was unnerving, this body with its city of neatly paged nerves and vast array of hormones and endorphins and one heart. Its plodding solitary beat made him painfully aware of the feeble life that lay ahead.

The pitch and roll of the jeep, that had seen better days, made his hands curl into fists on his trouser-clad knees. The uneasy balance irritated him to no end. It didn't exactly help that he was just slightly too tall and his crown kept colliding with the jeep ceiling every now and then.

The seeming myriads of road lights, flashing over everyone's features, on, off, on, off, like some kind of dementedly flickering torch, highlighted her eyes momentarily. Dark and stoic, they mutely accused him of what _he'd_ done. If he didn't know better, he might have thought the sparkling in those now dark amber orbs to be the hint of tears.

The next drawn, weary sigh that escaped him fogged up the icy, smudged window pane and, for a split second, turned all eyes onto him. He shifted restlessly. As much as he would prefer not to talk –he was sure unsure of this untrustworthy body that the implications of even talking scared him- this tiptoeing around one another, not literally, of course; well, he wouldn't be able to take much more.

Day 1 in this insipid life, forced upon him and she already hated him. The memory of her desperate tugging at the lapels of his jacket, the sliding of her lips over his so soft it was as if he imagined it –these things did in no way belie her expression of indeterminable hurt. He snorted in derision; what sort of a man was his sire to give a poor girl hope, and then abandon her on site, not even saying goodbye? So his egomaniacal, stripy-suited utter _idiot_ of an excuse for a clone apparently thought leaving her with a carbon copy of himself –needless to say, on that bloody nightmare of a beach again- (Jackie's words for once, were never truer), and, yeah, given that she'd kissed the him-but-not-him..He thought that was actually acceptable? He himself may have committed genocide, but at least he had some sense, he thought bitterly.

A sudden thought stumped him, crashing violently into his other internal debate. Was he even good enough for _her?_ He'd been sired from a man who was, in a nutshell, more or less clueless about women. Only a guess was the best way of telling how she felt, from the day's rather traumatic events.

They'd kissed, that he definitely knew. In Earth terms, well, that meant a lot. The Doctor, having been reared in a clinical society, was not always one to be overt about showing affection. That was one side even his maverick likeness couldn't tamp down. So it was understandable that even the mere act of holding hands was fairly otherwise. Obviously, it was otherwise for Rose, and with humans insecurity and sliding in and out of relationships, she had _needed_ that affirmation of their relationship.

And now that that aspect of their relationship has been confirmed –for now, he thought darkly- there was still an element of loss mining a deep chasm in him. Where did this place him, exactly? The Doctor has been happy to constantly give humankind appraisal and throw damnation at them the next for their inferiority, but he, this..hybrid –he wasn't fully Time Lord, was he? The mesmerizing, background spin of the Earth was something he no longer felt. As was the TARDIS' peaceful consciousness, somnolent and soothing with her rhythmic humming, and the pain of that loss was like a knife to one of his vital organs.

The light were infuriatingly bright, white and practically blinding, resulting in a few winces and hastily turned head. Scents, both positive and not, were strong to the point of being totally unbearable. At some chance, he'd weakly hoped that, at least, he'd still have his magnificent taste receptors. As predicted, the bread in the meek sandwich he'd had but two hours ago tasted too sour. Rose had looked pretty offended at his expression of disgust, thinking it an immediate insult to her mother's 'cooking prowess'.

So, at a head count, loss of superior Time Lord senses and abilities, no TARDIS, no screwdriver. Only Rose, the suit on his back and his life ahead of him. Domestic. He'd been dumped here, expected to be Mr. Domestic and a life-long comfort to the silent woman sitting next to him.

Not Time Lord enough before, and, now, not human enough. He gave a short bark of harsh self-deprecating laughter. How unbelievably _pathetic_ could you get?

His eyes flicked towards the front, meeting Pete's cursory glance as a murmur passed between him and his wife. The jeep slowed; the rhythmic bumping of the tyres on whatever road they were on began to decrease, resulting in the small vehicle jostling all its passengers. A small 'oof' emanated from Rose's side as her cranium knocked against the glass and there was a rush of concern for her as he dared make eye contact for more than an quarter of a second. There was a hint of gratitude in their inky depths, but otherwise her expression was unreadable. The road underneath them felt smoother and a glance out and upwards of the window revealed the tall, imposing shape of the rapidly nearing mansion. Haunting silhouettes of manicured trees flanked the large building, and a sudden fear clenched, vice-like, round his heart. The end of a journey, soon to be followed by the beginning of another.

Clicks of seatbelts and cloth on seat fabric saw that everyone else, who werenot much more than strangers to him at the moment, was currently evacuating the jeep. As Rose opened her door, and slid out, he met her gaze and saw how weary she looked. Some human, instinctive nature prompted him to offer a warm smile. He wasn't in the mood for doing anything that requires as many muscles as grinning did, but this, this he could muster. Hope practically exploded somewhere inside him as, after a moment's painful hesitation, she offered one back. It didn't, however, meet her eyes. It did, though, give him some semblance. Taking a deep breath, he then nodded to her, before tiredly making his way out and hoping whatever gods and goddesses and patrons out there would give him more to begin this journey. Things always worked out. It was only one day into his brand new life, after all. His sire was wrong of many things, and he himself too. He'd said many wrong things. But there was one saying that was never truer, and that was to never say never ever to anything.

**A/N: There you go, short but sweet. Hoped it didn't put too much of a dampener on things. Reviews are much love [and if you do happen to review and give your opinion, there will most likely be a companion piece to this]. ^^Thanksyou**


	2. Just Not Him

**A/N: Well. Firstly, thanks for all who reviewed/alerted/faved, because it really did motivate me [sad, but true]**

**I didn't know whether to publish Rose's noticeably shorter introspection separately, because hers is slightly more inclined towards DD and all that. But they start and end on roughly the same level, so, here's part 2! Set in a different scene to the first chapter. Basically, they are still on that bloody beach...**

It's strange, and more than a little unnerving, that he looks at her, but doesn't seem to acknowledge that he's doing it. Or that she's even_ there_.

Frustration coils rapidly within her. What will it take for her to get him to _speak_? Oh, the Doctor himself had his moods alright, but—

She nearly weeps at the thought of her Doctor, broken and alone. Again.. And then berates herself for comparing the two of them. What right has she to that? Really, they barely know each other, and the thought makes her head spin, her thoughts spiral out of control, frantically chasing their ragged tails. Not long ago they'd _kissed_, for God's sake. Did that not _mean_ anything?

Guilt began to seep in as she realized she had ultimately, been kissing the him-but-not-him by proxy. Imagining that she was actually, truly –_finally-_ locking lips with the love of her life.

And what a life it was.

The harsh reality of Him standing, clad in blue, sullen-faced, was like a slap in the face.

...What a life it _had_ been.

Now, no chance of that wonderful blue box with all that power inside. No more fiery stars, civilizations, gods and entities. She'd become addicted to that life.

What was left of it was but a square footprint in the grey sand, fading even now as the frozen tide lapped at the shore.

A sudden grating onslought of wind assaults them both, whipping her hair sharply over her features.

The salt and tangible atmosphere of despair is a cruel deja vu. Why this, why _here, _again?

She'd thought, that, for once, the Universe was being kind when she arrived in that desolate, car-strewn street. In her travels -so long ago- she'd learned from the Doctor that the Universe could give and take as it pleased. _His_ entire life was a very obvious example of that. They'd danced among the stars, care-free and decidely reckless. Unbeknown to the devastation that was to come.

After the War, she'd realized for a while that there was no going back. Fate hadn't been something she'd really believed in, but it was if the separation was meant to happen. It had been agonizing. But, inside,she had matured. Realized she'd have to fend for herself. Her odd little family -if you could call it that, with her dad-but-not-dad- welcomed her with open arms.  
In Pete's case...not so much. She was still the daughter of a dead man to him.

So Torchwood had been but a sanctuary to her. A spat between herself and her mum - _Look, sweetheart, you just can't keep pinin' after 'im. When will you get this into that stubborn head of yours? _He's not coming back"  
had decided it for her. Jackie's desparing tone, imploring her to drop this wishful thinking, filled for with regret. When mingled with Pete's short, snappish and uncaring jibes, anger started to resurface. Who the hell did he think he was? He'd practically disowned her without so much as a by-your-leave from the start! Who was he to tell her no?

Her brief angry nuances softened when he turned soft eyes towards her, imploring her to speakas he shuffled closer. No. She couldn't be angry at him.

God...they really had to come up with a name for him. She'd no longer be privy to calling him the Doctor, most likely; if anything, his expression if interest of changing his attire -a _blue_ suit, indeed- was a clear indication of wanting a fresh start.

A clean slate. She swallowed.

How could she, though? Forget any possibilities of surfing the Time Winds whilst with the man who showed her all of it, showed her a purpose for _living.  
_She'd never really questioned her own existence after that. But, now...The feel of his heart -his one heart- thumping rather erratically beneath her palm, the warmth of his skin that emanated from the fabric in turn warming the plates of her nails.

To be honest, as much as it thrilled her -for reasons she couldn't quite place yet- it was oddly terrifying. That one day he would, too, grow old, and when the time came, there would be no golden light to save him.

But at least he could grow old with her. And she with him. Together.

If her 'parents' would even accept him. Half-human or not, he was probably still the reckless Time Lord they had known in their eyes, and she awas pretty sure it wouldn't go down easy. Fear claws at her own heart at the thought of him being shunned by them, even if accepted by herself.

Hope quashes the spell of fear, and any remaining anger or hate. Instead, it's replaced with a strong resolve. Briefly, it brings her such confidence that her pulse quickens and she reaches and grasps at his hand. Which is, she notes, warmer than it used to be. But still, the perfect fit.

Despite the howling winds, the acrid salt tang in her mouth and Jackie practically yelling at her husband on the phone to come and cart their arses of this sodden living Hell, she just about musters a smile. It widens just that bit more as she feels the pull of his, tugging her closer. Not as close as she'd like, not yet, but, give him time. and she's no going to compare them anymore, she promises, and he smiles. And, didn't the Doctor say, once, even as foreboding stole upon them and fireworks collided in vibrant explosions in the sky, that she should never say never ever?

**A/N: I really didn't expect, or want this be as short as it is. But I felt it was finished, and I've learnt, with art and literature, to not try to 'over-finish' anything. I felt this was the place to end. But, if you beg to differ, please point it out nicely. [Reviews are much love, remember!]**


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